


a painter and the antichrist walk up a hill

by Precipice



Series: En Plein Air [2]
Category: Cthulhu Mythos - Fandom
Genre: (also Lavinia Whateley is a Dreamer because I said so), (strained but not too much), Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24484231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Precipice/pseuds/Precipice
Summary: Many things happened in Dunwich without Lavinia Whateley hearing about them - mostly because she kept to herself.(And she kept to herself mostly because she did not wish to hear about the things which happened in Dunwich.)
Relationships: Lavinia Whateley & Wilbur Whateley, Richard Upton Pickman & Wilbur Whateley, Richard Upton Pickman/Wilbur Whateley
Series: En Plein Air [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1768618
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	a painter and the antichrist walk up a hill

Many things happened in Dunwich without Lavinia Whateley hearing about them - mostly because she kept to herself.

(And she kept to herself mostly because she did not wish to hear about the things which happened in Dunwich.)

Her father's gold was now her son's gold, but some of that gold had always been hers - her father might have been cruel and her son might be callous, but neither before nor after the fulfillment of her role had she ever wanted for anything. Her life had always been one of leisure, except for a single night of labor.

One evening in the early October, Lavinia went to Osborn's store to trade her gold for his money. She had not intended to browse, but some new balls of yarn caught her eye with their bright colors. It was then when she heard Osborn tell his wife, who had been sweeping the floor, about the painter.

"Scruffy man, from Boston. Funny hat. Mamie Bishop took 'im in."

***

She had been sitting by her window when she saw them arrive – Earl Sawyer with his cows and, for some awful reason, his tennant in tow.

Scruffy man. Funny hat. Just like Osborn had said.

(This was not the first time Ear Sawyer had brought foreigners to her doorstep. Years ago, when Wilbur was a child, the farmer had pointed several reporters – nosy folk, silly folk, ugly folk – in the direction of the Whateley family. Lavinia had cried to Mamie afterwards, hurting without really knowing how, ashamed without truly understanding why; Mamie had yelled at Earl, and Earl had apologized to Lavinia, but shards of the hurt and the shame remained embedded in the woman's paper-thin, paper-white skin.)

She watched them look for her son. Heard them find him.

She watched them leave, Earl in a hurry and his tenant in a daze.

Lavinia did not have many illusions, neither for this life nor this world – being the only child of the old Wizard Whateley, she could never afford to have any. She knew what people saw when they looked at her son. But the man from Boston looked over his shoulder, over to where her son stood, and she found neither fear nor disgust in his eyes.

***

Several days passed, and Wilbur returned from his bath with a funny hat. He placed it on the kitchen table, where Lavinia was peeling potatoes for her dinner. She recognized it immediately.

"Oh, Willie" she sighed,"tell me ye didn't!"

Her son shook his still-damp head as he pulled up a chair.

"I didn't."

He grabbed an onion and peeled it, then cut it in half, then cut each half into thin slices – just the way Lavinia needed it for her stew.

(Something must have upset him, otherwise he would have never bothered.)

He watched her fry the sliced onion in butter, a wooden spoon in her hand.

(He had carved that spoon for her when he was three.)

"I should've. But I didn't."

"Did 'e say somethin' to ye?"

"Almos' caught me bathin'."

Lavinia almost dropped the spoon.

"Almos'?!"

"I was in the water when 'e showed up. Idiot thought the tail was a snake."

Lavinia stared at her son. Her son stared at the funny hat.

"So that's why ye didn't kill 'im."

"I 'ad to get out o' water first."

Lavinia shook her head and added several thin strips of salted veal and a glass of water. Unlike the other farms, their household never lacked for meat.

"An' the hat?"

"Found it on the ground."

"What ef 'e comes 'round lookin' fer it?"

"Let 'im come 'round first."

***

The man from Boston came around the very next day. However, Lavinia only learned about the visit many hours after he had left, when Wilbur's sudden and uncharacteristic agitation started getting to her and she asked if he was alright.

"We'll go fer a walk." He was pacing, but the steps – small, slow, hesitant – were those of someone not quite sure of themselves. "We'll talk. Ef I don't like what 'e 'as to say, I'll jus' kill 'im."

Lavinia was sitting in her father's chair, the sock she had been knitting almost forgotten.

"An' ef they come lookin' fer 'im?"

Wilbur shrugged.

"They've looked fer others before. They'll look fer others after."

"This one's not like those others, Willie."

She meant that the painter most likely had family and friends – people who would notice if he failed to return.

(People who would ask questions and get answers.)

Her son, however, had something else in mind, because he almost smiled when he agreed:

"I think so too."

***

They left, her son and the man from Boston, and Lavinia spent the next five hours slowly but surely falling apart with worry. Her imagination cooked up over a dozen different developments and force-fed her each and every one of them.

(Her children getting caught, exposed, killed.)

(Her father's sacrifices, all for naught.)

(Her own suffering, useless and eternal.)

Wilbur found her curled up by the staircase. _That which lived on the upper floor_ was quiet, for once, so the woman had almost fallen asleep despite the uncomfortable spot.

"S'alright, Ma," he almost sang as he led her to the warm kitchen. "Ye were right – 'e's nothing like 'em."

He made her sit down by the stove and drink a glass of water.

"Does 'e know?"

"I tol' him nothin', but 'e knows a lot. 'E knew 'bout John Whateley's nightgaunts."

"Ev'rybody in Dunwich knows about John Whateley's nightgaunts!"

"But nobody knows they're called that."

Lavinia gripped the empty glass.

"Is 'e a... a Dreamer?"

Wilbur shook his head.

"Not sure what 'e is, not yet. But I've got a clue."

Lavinia did not care about clues. She cared about her family's safety.

"Why did 'e come 'ere, then?"

Wilbur shrugged.

"To gawk, mostly, an' to draw pictures."

"But why?"

"I think... I think 'e likes it 'ere 'bout as much as _that upstairs_ does. But 'e's got nobody to keep 'im in, so off 'e goes, lookin' fer trouble."

***

They used to be close, the mother and the son. Not as close as the grandfather and the grandson, of course, but it was Lavinia who had taken little Wilbur to the hills for the first time. It was Lavinia who had taught him the signs, the songs, the steps. It was Lavinia who had taught him how to light fire and how to kill cattle.

But that was in the past. Both the mother and the son had drifted apart, slowly yet surely, each of them swept away into a world of their own – she in her dreams, he in his destiny. Now, Wilbur knew more signs and more songs and more steps than she ever had. He did not need any help with the kindling or with the bull, either. And he roamed the hills alone.

Until the man from Boston arrived.

Lavinia did not trust him as far as she could throw him, even though she had only seen him once through a dirty window. But Wilbur trusted him – perhaps even liked him.

Wilbur neither trusted nor liked anyone. Not since his grandfather had died.

Lavinia could not stop him – not just because he would not obey her, but also because she understood the situation he was in. After all, the shoes he walked in had once belonged to her, and every mile he walked was a mile she had once walked as well. She knew the extent of his solitude and the weight of his boredom. And unlike her, Wilbur could not find refuge in the Dreamlands – he belonged to the Waking World, just like the Waking World belonged to him.

So she did not bother him with warnings before he left, and she did not harass him with questions when he returned.

She merely noted the grass stalks in his hair, the new light in his eyes, the upward curve of his mouth.

***

Many things happened in Dunwich without Lavinia Whateley hearing about them - mostly because she kept to herself.

(And she kept to herself mostly because she did not wish to hear about the things which happened in Dunwich.)


End file.
